


Tales from Overwatch

by Papallion



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Don’t copy to another site, Non-binary character, Original Characters - Freeform, https://overwatch2-0zine.tumblr.com/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papallion/pseuds/Papallion
Summary: A small collection of Overwatch short stories with my OCs.





	1. Wraith VS Zombie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xombi, agendered agent of Overwatch, breaks into an old Overwatch faculty to access the files hidden within. Unfortunately, Reaper has the same idea.

‘let me down,’ Xombi hissed angrily as the Talon grunt hefted them up to his shoulder.  They struggled and kicked out, but Reaper still easily unbuckled and hauled their leg braces off, then flung them into the corner with their forearm crutches.  

Xombi’s eyes, completely black and shimmering with biotic amplification, glared at the wraith.  Xombi had infiltrated an old Watchpoint, but it turned out Reaper had the same idea. He had easily caught them as they accessed the database through their laptop.

Reaper took Xombi from the grunt, leaned over a storage create and dropped Xombi in.  “Stay put.” He ignored their hushed swearing to talk to his underling. “They can’t get out, but leave a guard in the hall just in case.”

Xombi heard the door shut and they fumed.  After a minute of silence they took a few centering breaths, then crawled to the corner of the box.  It took a few moments to get their legs under them, and they were grateful for the strength training Hanzo helped them with.  

Hanzo pushed them in ways Angel Eyes, their sweet, gentle Angel Eyes, couldn’t.  He was too kind to push Xombi the way Hanzo did. Hanzo didn’t care when their arms burned, or if their shoulders ached.  He pushed them, and they thanked him for it now.

They grinned as their legs supported them long enough to get their hands up over the edge of the crate.

With a victorious, yet muted, crow, Xombi flipped themself out of the crate.

Reaper was sitting at their laptop, clicking through files, and he looked over to them.  “Are you done?” he asked, and Xombi snorted.

Xombi could crawl quickly when needed, and headed for the corner.

“I don’t have time for this.”  Reaper returned to the computer.  He ignored Xombi as they hauled their leg braces back on.  

What harm could they do against him?  Xombi couldn’t walk, and couldn’t even speak very loudly.  But Xombi could do their best. They lifted a forearm crutch, maneuvered it to the electrical outlet, twisted the arm cuff until it caught the power strip, and hauled.  

The computer blinked off and Reaper turned to them.

“You’re annoying.”  He bent down, yanked the crutch from them and tossed it across the room.  He plugged the computer back in and loomed over Xombi. “Log back in.”

‘dont know how.’  Xombi adjusted their relaxed mohawk and tugged their shirt down, staring up as Reaper glared down at them.  He had almost six inches of height while they were standing, but Xombi didn’t care.

“I will make you feel pain,” he hissed at them.

‘i woke up during my own autopsy.  you can try to scare me.’

Reaper slung an arm around Xombi’s chest and dragged them to the computer, and peeled off their glove.  

When Reaper gave them a squeeze Xombi swiped their index finger over the fingerprint scanner.  They then swiped their middle and ring finger, and each print went unidentified. ‘sorry, maury,’ they hissed as the computer locked itself, and Reaper raised a hand to strike them.  

Xombi slid a taser from their sleeve and jammed it in Reaper’s right eye.  He screamed and pulled back, but Xombi had jammed it in a good distance with a wet, satisfying noise.  Their legs might not work, but Hanzo made sure Xombi could draw a bow. They used their left crutch the grab the right, opened the door, and slipped outside.

The guard wasn’t expecting them and Xombi clocked him with their crutch.  They then took off as quickly as they could, which was not very fast, but was enough to reach the next office before the guard caught up.  Xombi slid inside, locked the door, and turned around, only to crash into Reaper as he formed from mist out of the vents.

He quickly gripped their neck, hauling them up.  

Xombi gripped his wrist and swallowed.  ‘biometrics,’ they hissed, and he loosened his fingers.  ‘sombra can only hack so far before it wants biometrics.’  

Reaper plucked away their crutches and stomped on them, breaking one cuff and denting the arm support on the other.  He pressed Xombi against the wall. “Are you out of tricks, yet?” he snapped at them.

Xombi gripped their own wrist, clutching at their watch.  ‘yeah.’ Xombi took a few deep breaths, then their eyes rolled into their head with a cough.

Reaper was actually startled as Xombi’s last breath rattled out of their lungs, and he lay them down.  He listened to their chest, hearing one last beat, and swore. Their lifeforce ebbed and dimmed, and Reaper knew they were gone.  He stood over their body, wondering exactly what had happened, and bent over. With one last swipe he closed their eyes and left the room, returning to the last office for the laptop.  Sombra would just have to work around the biometrics somehow.

Two minutes later Xombi’s watch beeped and sent a bolt of electricity through them.  Xombi took a gasping breath, trying to get air into their lungs, and nothing happened at first.  Breath returned with the second shock, however, and Xombi could breathe on their own.

‘why are you called xombi,’ they asked the empty room in a mocking tone.  ‘its because i love italian horror films, mess with peoples brains, and i can die.  the vocal paresis doesnt hurt, either.’

It took Xombi a few minutes to gather themselves.  ‘Dying’ was always taxing on them, but their unique ability to revive themselves was quite helpful.  The nanites Moira flooded Xombi’s body with would always reset them to their last ‘backup’, in this case, a rather healthy body a few years ago.  It’s why, despite being fifty years old, they only looked forty. Xombi wished they still had their bag. Their emergency rations were in there, and they would desperately need calories, and soon.

They managed to grab their crutches and stand up, and sighed.  One crutch was too broken to use, and the other would be uncomfortable, but good for a while.  They could still walk without both, but it would be slow and irritating. Xombi peered outside, and made their way to the first room.

Much to their delight their bag was still slung in the corner.  They used their crutch to lift it and sling it on the chair, and pulled almost everything out.

It was obvious Reaper had rooted it through it, but their ration bars were still in the side pocket.  Xombi chewed on one as they ripped the lining of the bag open and pulled out the hidden holopad.

Xombi dialed Winston and braced themselves against the table.  ‘winston,’ they said as the link opened. ‘reaper was here. the bastard broke my crutches, took my gear, and knocked me around.  i had to brick my computer and die.’

“I’ll send an extraction team,” Winston said and started typing away.  “Are you well?” Winston knew dying was hard on Xombi.

‘i got some information, at least.  im sending it now. theres some sort of shipment you need to catch.’

“Sending in a team.  Stay put, and be careful.”

Xombi adjusted their braces so they could sit in the chair, and watched the cameras on their holopad.

Presently a transport dropped on the roof, and three figures slipped out.  One was Morrison, Soldier: 76. Xombi liked him. He was gruff, but not cruel, and they appreciated his ability to sit in friendly silence for a while.

Next was a Chinese man with dark skin and a long black braid.  Vermilion Lau always wore a black suit with vermilion accents, and two 50 mm guns holstered at his hips.  Today he was wearing a half balaclava with a jawbone printed on it. It covered his full lips and broad, handsome nose, but left his cybernetic eyes visible.  As usual he looked vaguely disinterested in the world around him.

Angel Eyes hopped out last.  He wasn’t wearing his tan boots with the red soles, instead wearing chunky combat boots.  He still had his trench-coat with the rosary on the back, the crucifix replaced by the tarot card Judgement, and his two-tone navy jumpsuit.  His duffel was slung over his shoulder as usual.

“Boss?” he called into his communicator.  “We’re on the way.” He always called Xombi ‘boss’, and sometimes, the other agents called them ‘Angel Eyes’ boss’ instead of Xombi.  He was sometimes The Minion, as well.

‘im where you left me.  where are your boots,’ they asked.

Morrison simply kicked the door down to the stairwell and the three men filed inside.

“Buckles tore out of the left boot again, and Jack let me borrow a pair of his.”  Angel Eyes tapped his boots against the steps. “Your feet are much broader than mine, Jack, I don’t know how you can find-”

“D’Angelo,” Morrison groaned.

“Sorry, moving on.”  Angel Eyes always talked too much on missions.

Xombi stood when they entered.

 _“Are you hurt?”_ Vermilion signed.  He couldn’t speak due to throat damage.  Xombi was one of the few agents who could sign competently, though the others were quickly learning.

‘just upset.  that laptop had my lúcio stickers on it.  but we need to move, you need to grab a transport.’  Xombi lifted their arms to Angel Eyes, and he expertly scooped them into a bridal carry.  ‘from what i could tell there were weapons and something stolen moira wanted.’ Xombi normally didn't like being carried, but they had to move.

Angel Eyes barely suppressed a shudder when Moira was mentioned.  Both he and Xombi had suffered at her hands. “Well, that’s enough motivation for me,” he said.  “Let’s get you to safety and ruin Moira’s day.”

 


	2. Emergency Brakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vermilion Lau, professional gunman, hoverbike racer, and now Overwatch agent, improvises on the road.

Jesse McCree looked up right as Vermilion Lau slammed his 50 MM Automag V into a Talon agent’s face.  “Now, c’mon, Milly, we talked about this! Pistol whippin’s uncivilized!” McCree snapped as he kicked another agent’s knee out and punched the back of his head.  He sighed as the former triad assassin locked eyes with him and pistol whipped the Talon grunt to his right.

Jack Morrison managed not to flinch as Angel Eyes shot out a snare, trapping another Talon agent to the wall.  “Little warning, D’Angelo?”

“Watch your six,” Angel Eyes chirped.  “Hey, the truck with the red stripe on it?  Is that the payload? The truck’s kinda ugly, should be easy to track-”

“How many guards?”  Morrison had to interrupt Marcus D’Angelo, ever the chatterbox.  He slammed the butt of his rifle into the chin of the last Talon agent.  

“Yeah, it just left.  Only two bikes on it, I don’t think they had time to plan their getaway.  They’re kinda slow, though, we might be-”

“THANK you, D’Angelo.”  Angel Eyes was a fantastic sniper and support, but needed to use ten words or less on a mission.  “McCree, with me, D’Angelo, Lau.” McCree hopped onto the nearest bike and used a key-hacker on his arm to activate it.  “How many guards?” Morrison straddled the bike and barely had time to grip McCree’s waist before the gunslinger took off.

Angel Eyes focused on the truck and adjusted his smart helmet.  “Driver, passenger, some guy on the roof, that’s dangerous,” he started, and Morrison sighed loudly into the communicators.  “Shutting up. I mean, two bikes, one rider each.”

Vermilion snapped his cybernetic fingers and summoned his hoverbike, an Ariel Sagittarius III.  He hauled his helmet on as he slung himself onto the bike, then glided over to Angel Eyes, who was rappelling down the roof he had camped on.

Angel Eyes slung his duffel over his torso and hopped on, and Vermilion tugged Angel Eyes’ arms around his waist.  “Milly and I are behind you! I mean, in front of you! Hi, kids! Bye, kids!” Despite being three years younger, he still called Morrison ‘kid’.

Vermilion’s custom sport bike was faster than the Sammy Rocket Morrison and McCree were on, and he easily passed his teammates.  He then hauled Angel Eyes’ arm back to his waist as the sniper leaned to the right to check on the vehicles in front of them.

 _“Careful!”_ he finger spelled over his shoulder, unsure if Angel Eyes noticed or could read his finger spelling backwards.

“OK, we’re dating now, that’s fine, you’re cute,” Angel Eyes quipped and felt Vermilion roll his shoulders.  Charades and body language played a large role in the mute assassin’s communication, since while most of the agents were conversational, aside from McCree and Winston, no one was fluent in American or International Sign Language.

Vermilion pulled back as a bullet bit into the highway a few feet to his right.  

“D’Angelo, take out the gunmen on the truck!” Morrison snapped into the communicator.  “We can’t take them on this bike!” Morrison knew that Vermilion, ever the bike fan, would have a snappy remark if he could sign right now.  “And no sass!” He and McCree continued to keep almost in range, slowing down when the passenger let out of volley of shells.

Angel Eyes could see Vermilion’s head bobbing, and knew he was mouthing, ‘and no sass’ in a sassy expression.

“OK, Milly, hold still.”  Angel Eyes slung his duffel bag to his front and pulled out the stock of his modular rifle.  Normally he would add a barrel, but at this range, it didn’t really matter. He stood, trusting Vermilion’s expensive bike to have a great gyroscope, and fired twice.

The guard on the roof ducked down, but Angel Eyes’ next shot dropped him off the truck.

McCree braked hard and right, avoiding him and one of the other riders.  

While Angel Eyes kept the passenger gunman pinned, Morrison and McCree took out the two motorcycle riders.  Morrison fired his pulse rifle, hitting the front tires of one of the bikes, and McCree got close to the other rider.  Morrison simply gripped the rider and McCree pulled away, hauling him from the bike and dropping him.

“D’Angelo, the gunman, passenger window!” Morrison called out, and Angel Eyes nodded.

“I’m working on it!” he snapped back, and leaned to the right.

Vermilion took the hint and maneuvered his Sagittarius, and Angel Eyes fired again.  

The gunman’s shotgun cracked as Angel Eyes hit it, and McCree pulled the Rocket up to the driver side.

As Angel Eyes shot the passenger gunman, Morrison pulled his sidearm out to shoot the driver window.  He hauled himself in and tossed the driver out with a grunt. McCree had already pulled back, and he watched the man flop along the road, wincing.  

Morrison hauled out the passenger, as, well, then gripped the wheel and swore.  “Got a smart lock, remote access!” The truck picked up speed and he hauled on the wheel.  “I can’t break, but I can steer a little!”

Vermilion nudged Angel Eyes in the ribs once he stowed his rifle, and Angel Eyes watched him sign.

“Guys, Milly just said ‘IDEA’,” Angel Eyes said.  “Pull back, Jess, I don’t think it’s a smart one!”

Vermilion nudged Angel Eyes’ left side and pointed to the truck, then elbowed him again.

“Guess I’m with you, Milly and I broke up,” Angel Eyes said as he hauled himself into the truck.  He dropped his bag at his feet and buckled up. “Seventy-six.”

Sometimes they still greeted each other with their SEP numbers.  “Ninety-eight.” Morrison pulled his own seat-belt on when Angel Eyes gestured to it.

Vermilion got in front of the truck and took a deep breath.  He plunged a cybernetic arm into his bike, gripped something, and yanked it out.

“D’Angelo, was that a hoverbike electromagnetic regulator?” Morrison asked as Vermilion tossed something to the side of the road.

“Maybe, I dunno?” the sniper said with a shrug.  “It was something, that’s for sure, but I’m not a- sitting quietly.”  He rolled his eyes at Morrison’s sigh.

“Lau, what are you doing?” Morrison demanded as Vermilion slung a leg over the bike, riding side saddle.  “You better not!” he snapped as Vermilion hauled the handlebar, rotating the bike ninety degrees and adjusting the tilt.

Vermilion ignored him and braced himself.

“McCree, get ready to grab Lau!” Morrison ordered and McCree pulled the Rocket up.

Angel Eyes kept up a litany of “Bad idea, Milly!” and crossed his arms in anticipation of the airbags.

Impact.

Vermilion hit the brakes as Morrison got the truck into first gear, then neutral.  The assassin’s head snapped forward and he was grateful he held his jaw slack, and for his cybernetic neck and spine.  The exoframe he wore on his legs locked, keeping him in place, and he could see McCree pull up alongside him.

His Sagittarius started to break up under him, the hover rings cracking and the fuselage screaming, and McCree pulled closer.

“C’mon, man, move your assassin ass!” he snapped and tried to match speed.

The fragmenting hoverbike was an excellent emergency brake, its chunks damaging the wheels and axles of the truck, but it was making a nervous noise and starting to heat up.

McCree held out his arm, hauled Vermilion onto the Rocket, and pulled forward to avoid the mess behind them.

The truck slowed down and Morrison shot the front panel with his sidearm, stopping the engine, and everything ground to a halt.  “You OK, D’Angelo?”

The sniper blinked, shook himself out, then finally nodded.  “Yeah, I’m fine, I suppose, not every day your best friend throws himself under the bus,” he vented.  They hopped out of the vehicle and McCree and Vermilion rode back.

Vermilion examined his Sagittarius and sighed.

“Well,” Morrison admitted, “that wasn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, at least.”

McCree kicked the remains of the bike.  There was little left, save the seat and the console, to tell it was even a bike at all.  “Don’t worry, Milly, that’ll buff out.”

Vermilion looked to McCree, then to his bike, then to Morrison.  He rotated a fist over his chest, ‘please.’

McCree pulled his hat off as Morrison lightly smacked the back of his head.  “Least we got the payload,” McCree grinned, and walked back to open it.  “Now, what all are we looking at?” he mused, and Torbjörn and Lúcio came to a halt beside them in their own hot-wired vehicle.

“What all happened to Cinnober’s Sagittarius?” the engineer demanded as he hopped out and stomped over to it.  He pulled his goggles off and held them over his heart in respect.

“Used it as brakes.  Let Torb see your hand.”  Morrison knew Vermilion’s body posture well, and he had no plans on sharing his injuries.  “He ripped out the regulator and now his hand won’t close.”

Torbjörn clucked his tongue and held out his right hand.  “C’mon, pojke, let’s have it.”

Vermilion would balk at Morrison’s commands, but not Torbjörn’s.  While Torbjörn examined Vermilion’s cybernetics, Morrison and Lúcio went over the weapons in the truck.

McCree and Angel Eyes were quickly taking stock.  “Now we’ve got things that go ‘bang,’” Angel Eyes was saying, “and things that go ‘boom,’ and things that go ‘bigger boom.’”  He tapped a large box in the middle of the truck, then paused. “Wait.”

He put his ear to the crate and listened.  “Jaaaaack,” he said as he looked up. “It’s making noises.”

“I don’t like that tone, D’Angelo.”  Morrison’s ears were better than Angel Eyes’ and he shooed the sniper aside.  He listened closely. “It sounds like a ventilation system. Let’s get the top off.”  

McCree felt along the edge of the box, found a latch, and crushed it with his cybernetic hand.  He lifted the lid but Angel Eyes slammed it shut.

“OK, just for the record, you guys know I can see ultraviolet, right?” he asked, and Jack nodded.  “SEP and all that?”

“Well, that’s just plain useful,” McCree said.  “What’s that gotta do with the box?”

“Something inside is lit up and I don’t think it’s a disco ball.”

“Hang on, let me see.”  Lúcio tugged on Angel Eyes’ coat and the sniper stepped back again, letting him in.  “Now this? These are chemical equations. This is biological.” He opened the lid, making Angel Eyes squint.  “The UV light sterilizes everything, it’s a safeguard.” He pulled out a small packet of paper and skimmed it, then paused and focused on a page.  “From the looks of it they’re some sort of antibiotic using nanites, but I’ll need Angie to decipher everything.”

They called Torbjörn over to examine it, and he nodded.  “All right, we can move this into the other truck, then blow this one up.  I can rig something to take everything out while you boys load up.”

“We should record this for Rat, he’d like that,” Angel Eyes mused.  He and Morrison, the strongest there, easily lifted the crate and loaded it into the other truck.  “So, with our millions of new friends the truck’s gonna be a little full. Someone’s going to have to take the bike you two rode in on.”

 _“One two three I am not riding that,”_ Vermilion signed, finger to his nose right as McCree did the same.  Morrison sighed at both of them.

“I don’t like Sammy Rockets, boss, you know that.  They’re finicky, they got a mind of their own, and that one’s missing a shock, I’m sure of it.”  He looked to Vermilion.

 _“I’m a professional.  I don’t ride toys.”_ He crossed his arms and tilted his head dismissively.  

“Yeah, you just ruin them.  I’ll take the Rocket, you guys just get in the van,” Morrison grumbled.  “Torb, any time you’re ready!” They braced the crate, Jesse took the wheel of the van, and Morrison rode alongside them back to the safe-house.


End file.
